


learn to fly, learn to fly

by zinabug



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, also he broadcasts from his house which is a point I have to clarify for some reason, fluff with very light angst, he is HEALING, he's the bird man, kevin with pets, night vale re-run server this is for you, song is by the two door cinema club it's called. beacon I think., un-edited or beta-read, yeah chickens don't really fly I just couldn't title it so SONG LYRIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinabug/pseuds/zinabug
Summary: Kevin talks to the chickens in the morning, and they follow him in a tiny flock as he babbles on and on with a mix of nonsense and news, carrying back and forth buckets of water and feed and fans, watching and gathering around his ankles as he sets out their food and collects their eggs.--Kevin has chickens and cares about them very much.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	learn to fly, learn to fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WakanaWill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakanaWill/gifts).



Whenever he steps outside, hot, dry air hits him like a wall. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he loves it, and raises his arms to the sky with a deep breath, tasting sand and clean air in the back of his mouth. 

It’s a problem for the chickens though. 

Kevin is completely unbothered by the heat. He can be outside as long as he needs to, he can work hard under the sun, but birds, as he has found, are much more delicate. 

He worries about them. 

On the rare occasions he leaves his home, he gives them water and kisses and wilted vegetables he forgot to eat- maybe half on purpose, just to give them another treat. He carefully locks the door, and checks is again, and worries they won’t be happy inside all alone. When he gets home, he opens the doors, and lets them out into his small garden- it’s all for them, although he’s found he loves tending it almost as much as he loves the birds. 

He sings to them. His voice isn’t much good after a day of talking to the radio, and it cracks and slides in and out of tune, but they don’t mind, just cluster around him with interest as he waters the grass he grows for them to peck at. 

Sometimes, while he’s locked away in the booth, he’ll get up at one of his small breaks and set a radio in their coop. They’ll gather around it, peck at it, look at him with curiosity and beg for handouts, but he just gently pats each one on the head and goes back to his work. They’ll be able to listen to his show, though. It’s like he’s there talking to them and sometimes he calls them by name. 

He has four of them, all perfect in his eyes, and each with a name. He doesn’t remember a lot of things, but he knows the names of every bird he’s ever had. 

Kevin talks to the chickens in the morning, and they follow him in a tiny flock as he babbles on and on with a mix of nonsense and news, carrying back and forth buckets of water and feed and fans, watching and gathering around his ankles as he sets out their food and collects their eggs. He makes sure everything is secure, checks window screens and the doors that separate his garden from the desert. It has to be indoors and shaded, or the heat and sun will burn it away and it will be swallowed by the sand. 

Some days, the bad days, days when he’ll stumble into the garden silently crying and sit down in one of the piles of straw he set out for them to scratch through, they'll gather around him, small and warm and comforting. They’ll climb onto his lap, or even roost on his head, making small, curious sounds and concernedly tugging at his clothes. More often than not, the tears will turn to laughter, as the birds try to cover him with their wings like he’s a chick they are sheltering from the rain. He’s far too big for them, and they make concerned chirruping noises and fuss over him and sit on his chest. They’re heavy, when he’s laying flat with all four birds sitting on him, and he looks up at the ceiling, he feels safe. 


End file.
